


Heaven or Something

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, None - Freeform, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-20 16:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: Everyone knows there’s hunting for sport and then there’s hunting for survival, even people who can’t remember their own name at the moment. The beautiful eyes of the man who tells him that they’re hunting something non-human tell a story that he knows he has to read all the way to the end.
Relationships: Sam/Dean
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75
Collections: SPN Meant to Be Master Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2021 spn-meanttobe fic challenge. Prompt 58. One Texas Night
> 
> Melinda Amery awoke to the double-barreled deep blue eyes of Lieutenant Grady Sloan. A more formidable –- or handsome –- man she'd never seen. And he wanted answers about a murder. Only, Melinda had none. She had no recall, except she knew nothing good would come from remembering... Grady was the kind of cop who wouldn't let go until he got what he wanted. With his job on the line, he needed to break the case. But the only witness had amnesia -– and tormented dark eyes that needed healing. And Grady couldn't help his overwhelming attraction toward Melinda. But would her hidden memories reveal more than either of them wanted to know... ?

He awoke to the sight of the most fascinating pair of eyes, the colors changeable even in the moment. The man was beyond handsome, the sharpest cheekbones, the pointiest perfect nose, and a pair of eyebrow shaped just so. He wanted to reach up and run a finger along the perfect curve of one of them, just to see what the man would do. Before he could begin to stop his impulse, the man’s head tipped forward and he noticed the hair, layers and layers of wavy auburn that shone in the sun streaming in through the dirty window.

_Where the hell was he—Heaven or something?_

He shook his head, and it all felt muzzy and even more mixed up, he couldn’t reach the part of himself that told him who he was. There was no foundation, nothing to latch onto and feel stable. He looked up at the beautiful man and asked the only question he could possibly form at the moment. “Who am I?”

“Dean, c’mon, stop fooling around, we need to work this case, two more people have been murdered overnight, just heard about it this morning while I was out,” the man said, those perfect eyebrows creasing into a concerned frown.

“Is my name Dean? Dean what? And murder, what are you talking about? Who the hell are you?” he asked in a heated rush, feeling around inside himself for anything to connect the name Dean to himself. The man’s eyes were the only thing that made sense, like they were his favorite colors, or maybe this guy was his favorite person?

“Did you hit your head or something while I was gone? Dean, if you’re messing with me right now, I’m gonna kill you,” the man said, standing up from where he’d been sitting on Dean’s bed.

“So, I take it my name is Dean, which, by the way doesn’t ring a bell to me. I don’t know anything about a murder much less two. Where am I and what the hell is going on?” Dean said, now in a near panic. He fought the wave of adrenaline as it dumped into his system. There was no air all of a sudden, no room for it, everything inside him closed up.

“Breathe, c’mon, Dean, you gotta breathe. I’ve got you,” the man said, folding him into his gigantic arms and tucking Dean’s head against his chest. “Breathe with me, c’mon listen, in-two-three-four, and out-two-three-four.”

The man repeated it several times and finally Dean joined him, he felt his own heart slow down to meet the one he could hear through the man’s soft flannel shirt. The smell of him, it was so familiar, it smelled like home and belonging and everything right in the world. Dean wanted to cry when the man let him go, looking at him closely again, those eyebrows a little higher in a worried scrunch.

“You really don’t know who you are, huh?” the man said, voice going a little softer around the edges.

“No…no, I don’t, I guess I’m Dean, that doesn’t feel wrong to me, even if I don’t remember it,” Dean said in a halting stumble. He struggled to not blurt out that the man smelled like home and his eyes were his favorite colors in the world. He needed to know who this person was before he started spouting off.

“Okay, we’ll start out slow then, you’re Dean and I’m Sam. Can you tell me what the last thing is that you remember, Dean?” Sam took a deep breath and looked at him with a hopeful puppy dog look that made Dean’s heart melt around the edges.

Dean riffled through his near empty brain, closing his eyes against the intensity of Sam’s hope. There was a thread, small and insignificant in all the grayness around him. He tugged on it and his words tumbled out, his eyes still pressed closed against the scattered memories.

“I was in the place, I was in the house with the…you know…the thing, and it got bright and loud, it smelled like burning hair and then you woke me up, Sam.” Dean intentionally used the man’s name, hoping he’d be able to remember it from here on out. Because how could he ever forget the most handsome man he’d ever met? That would be a damn tragedy, and also something he definitely wanted to keep all to himself, for now.

“You went back there, without me? We talked about this, we had a plan. Goddamnit, Dean!” Sam yelled as he stood up from the bed and began to pace the small room.

  
Dean looked up at him in astonishment, Sam was so damn tall, talk about wanting to climb someone like a tree, this dude was a freaking redwood. Why was Sam yelling at him though? Why wasn’t he more alarmed himself?

“Sam, I don’t know anything about a plan. Why are you yelling at me?” Dean asked in a quiet voice, drawing into himself, and pulling a pillow onto his lap to hug and hold between them as some dumb approximation of a shield. As if any sort of shield could stop someone built like Sam.

Sam stopped pacing and looked down at him, intense and searching. It felt like he was like having a lie detector and cat scan all at once. Dean didn’t like it one bit, he felt exposed and raw. It also felt familiar as hell and how was that possible when he didn’t know this Sam guy?

Sam sat down on the other bed and put his head in his hands, his long hair completely covering his face from view. “I’m sorry for yelling. It’s just—we talked about this, we agreed. You are the exact kind of victim this thing goes after. We decided I was going to be the one to go in after it, and you would back me up. That was our plan, emphasis on _our plan_.”

“I honestly have no freaking clue what you’re even talking about,” Dean said, his confidence in what Sam had told him wavering. What was this guy talking about? What did he mean by this thing? A murdering thing? Didn’t he mean a murdering person?

Sam’s hands tightened in his own hair, tugging a little, and Dean’s belly responded with a pulse of want, of always wanting his hands to be there, in Sam’s hair, tugging and pulling until Sam made the sound that meant—

“Hey, Dean, you still with me?” Sam was snapping his fingers in front of Dean’s face.

Dean blinked a few times, trying to refocus on what he was supposed to know how to do in a situation like this, mainly covering up his true feelings, that seemed very important all of a sudden. “You need to tell me who you are, Sam, right the fuck now. Why are you talking about a thing murdering people? I may have amnesia or something, but that sure as shit doesn’t make any damn sense at all.”

Sam’s response was a loud bark of laughter that startled Dean. It was followed up by a wide grin that showed Dean something new. This gorgeous man had dimples, deep and beautiful right there on either side of that pink and full lipped mouth. He wanted to—

“We’re working a case, we’re…uh…we’re partners, and the thing we’re after—” Sam said.

“Thing? Not person?” Dean interrupted to get clarification, trying desperately to ignore those dimples.

“No, Dean, definitely not a person, it’s a creature like the usual shit that we hunt. It’s kind of like a djinn, do you know what that is?” Sam asked.

“Djinn, you mean like a genie? Like from Aladdin? The blue dude that Robin Williams played?” Dean asked.

Sam’s eyes widened and he chuckled softly, smiling less widely, but gone all soft now, his eyes too. God, they were so beautiful.

“I forgot how much you liked that movie,” Sam said. “Yeah, the thing is kind of like that, but instead of granting wishes like in the story or movie, this thing reads your mind and makes you believe you’ve gotten what you most desire, but meanwhile it steals your memories. Eats them or something, we weren’t quite sure, the lore on it that I could find wasn’t too specific.”

“You said I was the type of victim it goes for, what did you mean?” Dean asked.

“Someone with…uh, a lot of desires that aren’t being fulfilled is probably the nice way to put it.”

“You saying I’m a needy, pining little bitch, Sam?”

“That’s pretty much exactly what you said to me when I suggested this plan a few hours ago, so you haven’t really lost all of yourself. That’s some good news there, I guess,” Sam said with a one-sided grin that popped one of those dimples like he was trying to tease Dean with it.

“I’m not up for investigating djinn or genies or murders, not when I don’t really know who the hell I am, much less why I’m even here,” Dean admitted.

“You’re here because we found this case on our way back home from another case. You insisted that we stop here and work it, because there had already been three people dead, and now we know there’s two more after last night.”

“That’s five, that’s a lot, and they’re people that have died not these genie things right?” Dean asked.

“Right, five people, humans, that the thing has killed, which is why we’re here to do our job. Okay, so new plan, here’s what we’re going to do, you stay right here in our room, and I’m going in after it and I’ll come right back and hopefully by killing it, you’ll get your memories back.”

“Wait, hold on, earlier you said we were going back home, you mean we live to…together?”

“Yeah, Dean, we have for a very long time, most of our lives,” Sam said, eyes searching for something like acknowledgement in Dean’s face.

“Is that why I’m…am I supposed to feel like this?” Dean asked.

“Feel like what, what do you mean exactly?” Sam asked.

“Like I trust you, even though I don’t know myself, I trust you, like way deep down inside, like it’s automatic,” Dean said. He reconsidered what he’d just done, but it was too late now. This guy could be the monster or genie or whatever for all he really knew.

When Sam’s face went all soft again, once he’d heard his words, Dean knew that the deep trust he felt in Sam was true and real.

“Good, I’m glad you trust me, that’s uh…really good to hear, actually,” Sam said, reaching across the divide between the beds to pat Dean’s knee.

Dean laid his hand over Sam’s to keep it there. He looked up at the still soft look on Sam’s handsome face and felt his insides practically melt. He was glad he was sitting down, was this swooning? Was he fucking swooning here?

“You okay to stay here alone, while I go get this thing taken care of?” Sam asked, sliding his hand out from underneath Dean’s.

“Won’t it get you too?” Dean asked, “I mean, you seem kinda needy and pining too, dude. Just sayin’.” He tried to hide his disappointment at the loss of contact, his knee and hand seemed incandescent just from Sam’s brief touch.

“Yeah, probably true on that last bit, but no, it won’t get me because I’ve got the protective spell ingredients that you were supposed to wait for me to gather together.”

“I guess I got impatient or something, sorry,” Dean said.

Sam quirked a grin at him. “I really shouldn’t be surprised at that, it’s kinda your MO. I’m guessing you probably heard about the two new vics somehow and went to check it out.”

“Huh, sounds possible. Since we know that two more people just died, Sam, I really think I should come with you. Just in case it comes here to finish me off, or comes after you when you’re alone,” Dean said.

“Dean, you don’t even really know what’s going on, or how to hunt this thing. Plus we don’t know why you’re like this,” Sam said, gesturing with one giant hand at Dean’s head.

“We have a good guess, don’t we? I think I’m probably like this without my memories because of the genie-whatever-thingy, so I think I need to stick with you, just in case,” Dean said.

Sam sighed and shrugged a little. “You have to stay in the car while I go in the place, promise, Dean?”

“Sure, okay, let’s go,” Dean said.

Sam pointed at a bulging plastic bag on the motel room’s small table. “I have to mix myself up the protective spell first.”

“A spell—what are you, some kind of a witch or warlock or whatever it’s called?”

“Something like that, yeah. You’ve been calling me Samantha forever, so I finally grew into it, I guess.”

Dean started humming the Bewitched tv show theme.

Sam’s eyes widened and then he busted out an extremely cute giggle. “How the hell can you remember the freaking Bewitched tv theme song and who played the genie in Aladdin, but not yourself or me?”

“Guess I must have wished for something about you and me. You said this genie thing sucks up your memories, maybe it’s really precise and specific like that,” Dean suggested.

Sam smiled and shook his head, the beautiful shaggy hair going all directions. “You always amaze me, sometimes I’ll be struggling to get somewhere on a case, like now, and you’ll just—blammo, figure it out, out of nowhere.”

Dean tapped at his forehead, “Mind palace, Sammy, gotta keep your mind palace in tip top shape.”

Sam froze in the middle of transferring something big and leafy from a plastic bag into a metal bowl. “What did you just say?”

“Just some Sherlock talk, I bet you love that show,” Dean said.

“You mean the BBC one with Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock Holmes? Yeah, I do love that show, but I didn’t know you did.” Sam was mixing something vigorously in the bowl, the spoon he was stirring with was clanging against the edge.

“If we live together, how do you not know something like that?” Dean asked.

“The place we live, it’s…uh, it’s a pretty big place, we have room to spread out. Sometimes I don’t see you much, guess it’s when you’re bingeing Sherlock or something. We tend to give each other space when we’re home, because we live out of each other’s pockets when we’re on the road hunting.”

“Why does that make me sad to hear that?” Dean asked in a near-whisper he hoped Sam hadn’t heard.

Sam’s face told him that he’d definitely heard. “C’mon, I’m all done here, let’s go.” Sam pointedly didn’t answer and finished transferring the mixture into a small plastic tub, snapping on the lid and putting it in his bag.

Sam opened the motel room door wide and waited for Dean to join him.

Dean stood up for the first time, and realized just how freaking tall Sam really was. He fussed with arranging his coat as he moved closer to Sam, and then looked up at him. _Way way up._

“Why are you so damn tall anyway?” Dean asked.

“Dude, you’ve been complaining about that literally for years. It’s just how I turned out, shame you couldn’t keep up.”

“Wait, we’ve known each other that long?” Dean asked, the world going swimmy and weird around the edges all of a sudden.

“Yeah, we have. Dean—hey, you okay?” Sam asked, reaching out to catch Dean.

This—this wasn’t swooning, this was fainting maybe? Dean thought as he fell forward into Sam’s arms. His last concrete thought was home, Sam really smells like home, my home. _Mine_.

****

Dean woke up in a car. His cheek was pressed up against the vinyl seat and he could see it was a vintage model from the looks of the steering wheel and dashboard. At least Sam had a cool car. Or maybe it was his? He could see through the windshield that it was pretty dark outside, but not all the way gone over into night.

 _I’m Dean_ , he told himself, _me that’s me, I’m Dean. But where’s Sam?_ What a relief to remember at least that, which was a whole lot better than the last time he’d woken up, he reminded himself.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on what he knew or remembered. He found that there still wasn’t much inside himself, but there was something about a new plan, and waiting in the car while Sam hunted a thing that ate memories. This must be the car, he must be waiting and he had apparently fallen asleep while waiting for Sam. That must mean that Sam had been gone a long time, at least enough time for him to conk out.

He looked out the car windows again, it was almost past dusk, and night was coming on fast. The two lane road ahead and behind was empty, no cars, lights or people, but there was a vague shape in the distance, a possible house. The shape of it was vaguely familiar from that first memory he’d had, the burning hair place, where the thing was that they were hunting—Sam was hunting. Dean’s hand was on the car handle door before he could stop himself.

Sam—he was in there. He was hunting the thing alone—Dean had to go, had to help Sam. He smelled it then, there was a sticky greenish substance on his hands and on his neck. It had to be the potion that Sam had been mixing up in the motel room. He must have put it on him, just in case. Dean felt safer somehow, even though it was sticky and a little smelly, like a pesto smell but with less basil, maybe some type of mint?

He walked towards the house shape which he could now see was definitely a big house through the sparse trees. As he drew nearer, Dean could see that there was a light inside the place on the first floor, bobbing around like someone was holding a flashlight while they were running. Hopefully it was Sam on his way back out. There was a scream and the light went out as the sound of the scream faded. Dean ran forward with a lurch of cold fear flashing through his belly, he pounded through the underbrush and small trees, not caring if he got scratched up, nothing could stop him from getting to Sam.

He reached the house’s gravel driveway and slowed his steps, it was an old Victorian kind of place, decrepit and falling apart, all the windows blank and dark like so many eyes watching. He carefully stepped in through the back door and flinched as it squeaked and groaned. It was utterly silent inside, no indication of anyone or anything moving. Dean walked forward, heel toe-ing it as he instinctively avoided the joins of the floorboards.

A scuffle and a low groan down the hall got him moving faster, no longer worrying about the sounds he was making. It was so dark in here where there weren’t any windows, he patted his pockets and found a small flashlight, Sam must have equipped him. That probably meant he’d expected Dean to do just this, come in after him. He felt something heavier in his other pocket and pulled out a gleaming pearl-handed gun. The gun felt very comfortable in his right hand, well-balanced and vaguely familiar.

There was a sudden louder scuffling movement at the end of the hall, like someone struggling to get up, they eventually did, holding onto the wall and the doorknob. The figure was very tall, and had a lot of hair, it had to be Sam. Right?

“Sam?” Dean whispered, bringing the light up to shine in the figure’s direction.

The person’s head whipped around in his direction and Sam hissed at him, “Get back to the car, now.”

Dean could see the shine of blood on Sam’s temple, there was a long trail of it down his jaw. Sam had been knocked out by the thing. Dean sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere.

Sam turned back towards the door and opened it slowly, Dean could smell a wave of something familiar from his spot at the other end of the hall, that sick burning hair smell from his hazy memory of this place. “Sammy, don’t go in there,” Dean whispered.

Sam waved him off and stepped inside, the only light in that room was a candle and the glow of it glinted off the giant silvery knife or maybe short sword that Sam held. Still using his flashlight as he caught up, Dean could see that there was something on the blade that looked like blood. Sam had been busy apparently.

Dean wondered again for a moment if he was safe with Sam, there seemed to be an awful lot of weapons involved in their relationship. But Sam had said that they were hunters, of non-human things, whatever that meant and here Dean was holding an actual, for-real gun in his own hand. He watched as Sam’s shoulders bunched up as he raised his weapon, fascinated and a little turned on actually to see the muscles in Sam’s back and shoulders move. Sam was built, and as he jumped towards the thing he was attacking, all Dean could focus on was the perfect shape of Sam’s ass, it really was a thing of beauty.

 _Focus, Dean, focus_ , he chided himself.

Then came a sound that could only be Sam’s knife cutting through flesh of some kind, followed by a thump of something heavy hitting the floor and rolling out to rest at the edge of the door like some demented Halloween doorstop.

“Dean? You okay?” Sam asked, stepping around what must have been the genie thing’s head. It was definitely close to humanoid, with intricate blue tattoos all over the skin. The eyes were huge and near black.

Before Dean could answer Sam’s question, he smelled that burning hair smell, even more strongly, and heard something rushing towards his back. Before he could turn and fire his gun, he was enveloped in a crushing hug from behind. Someone had grabbed him—no something, because it wasn’t quite solid like a person, but it was immensely strong. Dean struggled in the thing’s grip, trying to get away, to turn his gun on it, something anything. He was desperate as the thing loudly hissed in his ear.

“Thissss issss who you wisssshed forrrr, thissss muuuuurderer? Thissss one who kiiiiled my maaaate?”

“Let him go,” Sam ordered, taking several careful and measured steps towards them.

“I will taaaake the resssst of his memories, and youuu’ll have nothhhhing left of your loverrrr,” the thing growled through its inhuman lips, taunting Sam.

“I said, let him go,” Sam said, even closer now, brandishing the very large and bloody knife.

The thing’s grip tightened on Dean and he felt himself begin to keen and beg, even though he wanted to be able to stay silent. “Sammy, just go, please. I’ll do anything, I just want to keep him safe, don’t hurt him, please.”

“That’ssss riiiight beg for him, sssshow him whaaat you wisssshed for, what you ssssold to me,” the thing growled in its awful hissing garble.

It hadn’t noticed how close Sam was, Dean could feel the thing’s surprise as it tensed up all over, its grip going from impossibly strong to making Dean gasp for breath as it compressed his chest so that he couldn’t take a single breath. Then came a whoosh of the knife slicing through the air and a thwacking sound just next to his ear. The thing abruptly let go of him, falling in a heap behind him. Sam stood before him, panting from the exertion of chopping another genie head off or maybe from the fear of confronting the two genies. Dean panted too, well no, he gasped in deep breaths after being held by that thing.

Dean searched his face, as he stepped closer, he searched Sam’s face, familiar and dear and saw that it was the fear of losing him that was freaking Sam out. “I’m okay, Sammy.” But he wasn’t okay, not at all. The confrontation with near death was too much, he could feel himself falling, everything going grey again, the only thing in color was Sam, always Sam.

“Dean?” Sam asked, catching him again as he swooned forward.

****

Dean woke up in the motel room again, this time, his boots and jacket were off, actually he was down to boxers and a t-shirt, and he was tucked in the bed, all warm and safe like nothing had happened. He could hear the shower running, it made him smile, Sam was here. He got out from under the covers, took off his shirt and boxers and pushed the cracked open door open. Sam didn’t notice, his head was under the stream of water, washing out the shampoo, the smell of which hit Dean with a wave of the familiar. This was the smell, the one that meant home. Just the scent of it reminded him that Sam had always used this shampoo, for what seemed like forever. He pulled the curtain aside enough to slip in behind Sam.

  



	2. Chapter 2

Sam jumped in surprise, slipping and flailing in the tub. Dean steadied himself against the cold tile wall and caught him, gathering him into his arms. “I’ve got you,” he murmured into Sam’s chest. He licked at the water a little, admiring how the tattoo that they shared looked on the impressive expanse of Sam’s chest. “God, I love how built you are, Sammy.”

Sam’s hands scrabbled against his back, like he was still in danger of slipping and Dean held onto him tighter. He looked up and saw the surprise and something else. Was it fear in Sam’s eyes?

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.

“We don’t…uh, we don’t usually do this, Dean,” Sam said, his face sad now, like he knew it was disappointing Dean to hear this news, but maybe he was sad about it too.

“Well, I really think we should, from here on out,” Dean said, kissing his way up to the base of Sam’s neck. He enjoyed feeling Sam harden against him.

“It’s not fair, not when you don’t have your memories, I can’t, I shouldn’t. You’d never forgive me,” Sam said.

“You heard the thing, back in that awful house before you chopped its head off like the complete badass that you are. You heard what it said, this is what I wished for. The only reason for you not to go there and do this, is the issue of what it is that you want. If you don’t want me like I want you—then I’ll get out of this shower right now and we’ll never talk about it again.”

“Stop…I do, of course I do, Dean, I mean obviously. But it’s…” Sam trailed off, his hands finally resting on Dean’s lower back instead of frantically scrabbling.

Dean moved his hips just so, lining them up and thrust a few times against the planes of Sam’s ripped abs. It felt so good, Dean couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips.

Sam loomed over him then, blocking out all light as he came down over Dean, his lips finally reaching Dean’s, feeling so hot against all the water. Dean felt like he was being consumed, his last slightly coherent thought was that this was what they meant by becoming one.

Of course there was a lot of movement, careful and slow tugs and thrusts and Sam’s fingers inside of him, deep where it counted. Finally Sam was shutting off the water and drying him off with a towel. He hesitated once he had Dean laying on the bed, hovering above him, like he was reconsidering.

“If you want me to sign something giving you permission, I totally will. Otherwise, dude, you have like ten seconds to get inside of me,” Dean said, curling his feet around the back of Sam’s legs to pull him closer.

Sam’s smile was slow and timed to his movements as he lowered himself sliding their naked still-damp bodies together in a thrilling tacky glide. He was just the right amount of hairy in just the right places. Dean crunched himself up to jam his nose into the edge of Sam’s armpit, inhaling deeply and licking at the hair.

Sam giggled which surprised them both.

“If you’re too ticklish, I’ll stop,” Dean said, lips moving against Sam’s warm skin.

“No, you’re good, just surprised me,” Sam said.

“Never have anyone into your armpits, huh? That’s a damn shame, because with your arms and your chest and you like this, it’s goddamn irresistible,” Dean said, diving back in for another lungful of the perfect scent. He couldn’t wait to do this when Sam wasn’t just out of the shower. Maybe after a long sweaty hunt. Mmmmm, that’d be good.

Sam moaned at the feeling, especially once Dean’s hand found his nipple, tugged on it in the same rhythm as his lips on his skin. He could feel Sam getting even harder and bigger. He was already so damn big, he couldn’t wait to feel him inside. “Need you in me now, please, Sammy, c’mon.”

Sam shook all that beautiful hair, spraying Dean with droplets that shocked and refreshed him, bringing him out of the heat-soaked daze he’d found himself falling in. There was something about not having a brain full of memories that made this being in the moment thing a whole lot easier to achieve. The smile on Sam’s face though, those dimples blazing out like the best prize Dean could ever hope to win. Making Sam smile that much was his life long quest, he knew that was the truth of his life.

“Love it when you smile like that, Sammy,” Dean said, caressing each dimple with his thumbs, he pulled and tugged until Sam curved over him, bringing their lips together. Joining them as one as he had in the shower, taking over all his senses, what was left of his mind, and then Sam entered him. All in a long pulsing glide, it was painful, the best kind of painful, Dean tried to breathe through it, to not panic, he had never hoped for anything as glorious as this. Not that he could remember anyway.

From that moment on, Sam took over, setting the pace, pushing and pulling Dean into a position where he was practically in Sam’s lap, sprawled wide, one leg over Sam’s shoulder, split wide open, and taking every last inch of him, deep inside where it counted, where he needed it most. He lost the train of any thought then, it all went to not gray this time but white instead, a beautiful pulsing white that sparkled through him from head to toe, rushing out of him as he came.

The next time he woke up, he knew everything, without even opening his eyes to confirm. He knew why he was in a Texas motel room, he knew who he was, and most importantly who the man was in the bed next to him. The man wrapped around him, holding him close, just like he had always wanted and never let himself hope for. His not so very little after all brother. He didn’t want to move from this bed just in case it broke the spell. Dean didn’t want to have to explain himself or make excuses, he just wanted to soak up the last moments of this bliss he’d never expected.

Dean was embarrassed to make a sort of purring sound as he snuggled closer into Sam’s embrace. He felt more than heard Sam’s rumbling chuckle as it echoed through his massive chest. The one that Dean’s cheek was plastered against. He slowly edged closer to Sam’s armpit, taking one last inhale of that scent. It was even more intoxicating after a night of the most amazing sex he’d ever experienced. It had been a long time coming, haha.

“You’re finally awake, and you remember,” Sam said, the rumble of the words setting off an earthquake of feelings rumbling through Dean, surprise, worry, love and lust all at once.

“I’ll get off of you, give me a sec,” Dean grumbled, pushing himself up to sit and turning away quickly. He didn’t want to see the look on Sam’s face. How could he know his memory was back?

Sam’s hand was on the curve of his lower back, a touch so gentle that it made Dean shiver. Apology, or forgiveness, which was it going to be? He didn’t want either of those things.

“I didn’t mean that you have to get up, Dean. I was enjoying laying here and waiting for you to wake up.”

Dean sighed and looked at the ceiling, so it was going to be forgiveness then? He stood up and walked to the bathroom, a little more bow-legged than usual, grimacing at the pull of mostly unused muscles.

Sam was in his space in a flash, before he’d even heard him moving, supporting him with an arm around his waist, one hand hovering over his chest.

Dean batted at Sam’s hands and stepped away, shutting the door in-between them.

“I’m going to go get us some breakfast,” Sam said through the door. Dean didn’t respond except for a non-committal grunt. As he heard the door to the room open and close, he wondered if he should take off, make it easier for both of them. But he needed a shower, he couldn’t drive smelling like this. And it wouldn’t be fair to leave Sam stranded in Texas without a car. It would be a tough day stuck together in the car, but he could do it, drop Sam off at the bunker, pick up some of his stuff and then go. That’d be best for everyone.

All of that went through his head as he showered. Trying not to remember last night in this very spot where he’d practically jumped his own brother. Where he’d insisted on ignoring Sam’s hesitations and pushed for his own selfish desires to be fulfilled. Sure, Sam hadn’t really seem too worried while he was plowing my ass, or while I was doing the same to him, but he was caught up in the moment or whatever. Several times, ahem.

Dean shut the shower off and used the last towel, a small hand towel, because they’d left the bath towels in a damp heap at the edge of the bed last night. _You remember, Dean, right before he’d laid you down and taken you to the heights and back again._

Dean leaned his cheek against the mirror and breathed out a cloud to steam up his own image from the nose up, he couldn’t look at himself in the eye. He shaved while concentrating on just the skin of his chin and cheeks. He heard the door open and close and wished he’d brought some clothes in with him, now he’d have to parade himself naked in front of his brother, like it or not. He opened the door and without looking at Sam, marched to his duffel, yanking on his clothes roughly, not paying attention to whether what he’d grabbed was clean or matched or whatever. Who cared at that point.

Sam sat at the rickety motel table, not eating his breakfast or drinking his coffee. Just staring off into the middle distance, where his rapey big brother wasn’t such an issue, Dean concluded.

“Thanks for getting this,” Dean mumbled taking a coffee and wrapped breakfast sandwich over to the bed that hadn’t been defiled. He wished the tv remote was closer, just to have some noise in the room besides the sighing that Sam was doing over there.

“Yeah, no problem,” Sam said, finally unwrapping his sandwich and taking a bite.

Dean tried his hardest not to watch his brother for signs of the impending explosion. But he couldn’t help himself, he knew Sam, how bad this was going to be, he was just trying to be prepared. That’s when he saw the glint of tears on his brother’s cheeks. Sam was eating his eggs and muffin mechanically, chewing and swallowing, then draining the rest of his coffee like he wasn’t even tasting it. The last straw was seeing Sam wiping the tears away with his napkin. Dean wanted more than anything to make the hurting stop, make Sam stop, make him go back to last night. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to him. It wasn’t right then, and it wouldn’t be any more right now.

“I’m gonna shower real quick, and then we can go,” Sam said, standing up in a rush, grabbing his duffel and retreating to the bathroom.

The door snicked shut with the addition of the lock thudding into place. Might as well have been an arrow right to Dean’s heart. How had he screwed them up so completely all in the space of a few fucking hours? _Hours of fucking would do that,_ he answered himself. Dean scooped up all of his belongings, stuffing them into his duffel and considered bailing again. Sam could rent a car or whatever, that’d be fine.

“If you fucking ditch me while I’m in the shower, I’ll never forgive you,” Sam said in a threatening growl through the still closed and locked door.

Dean set his duffle down on the bed and sunk into it, he finished his coffee and tried not to think about anything except for how Sam could do that, was he a mind-reader now in addition to the whole witchy thing?

He heard the shower shut off and the frustrated groan as Sam noticed the absence of towels. He scooped up the almost dry towels from last night and knocked on the bathroom door. “You want these? They’re almost dry.” The door opened up just enough for Sam’s hand to shoot out and grab them from Dean.

Dean paced the room instead of sitting back down. It was going to be a hell of a long day in the car. Or maybe he should just stay here and let Sam take her. He was the one at fault here, so he probably should at least make the offer. He changed his mind once he saw the state Sam was in.

Sam came out fully dressed, with his emotional armor back in place, his mouth a thin line that matched the crease in his forehead. They got in the car and were out on the highway without a word spoken, it continued that way for several excruciating hours. Baby’s tank was getting low so Dean pulled off to refuel. Sam slammed out of the car and stalked into the mini-mart, leaving Dean to handle the pumps. He came back with a paper bag, and a more relaxed look. Maybe he’d just had to pee and hadn’t wanted to talk to Dean and ask him to stop. There were unspoken rules that they followed for the silent treatment after all these years riding together.

Dean got back into the driver’s seat after he’d made his own pitstop. Sam reached in the paper bag on the seat between them, rustled around and brought out a bag of peanut M&M’s, he handed them over to Dean along with a hint of a smile. Dean tried his best to smile back. He ripped open the bag and popped a few of the bright candies in his mouth. The sweetness, the salt of the peanuts was his favorite combination. And Sam knew it, so this was a sorry this time. And that meant Sam was thinking about this whole thing all bass-ackward.

Before he started the car, Dean turned in his seat, looked at Sam straight in the eye for a long moment. He took a deep breath and couldn’t think of what the hell to say. His mind went blank, well not as blank as it had been yesterday, but what the hell could he say here? It wasn’t like he could rattle off: I’m sorry if I made you do something last night that you didn’t really want to. I’m sorry I’m that needy little bitch we both know I am. I’m sorry I want you like that, all the time, always have. I’m sorry that I love you the way that I do. None of that could be said out loud and Dean knew it. Sam wouldn’t believe a bit of it anyway, or at the very least he shouldn’t.

“I’m not sure what I can say here,” Dean finally said. Damn that was lamer then lame.

“Say what about what?” Sam asked with one eyebrow raised.

“Why we’re not talking to each other,” Dean said.

“Oh, I thought you weren’t talking to me,” Sam said. “You couldn’t even look at me earlier at the motel.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. By the way you’re wrong. About all of it,” Dean said.

“Tell me what I’m wrong about, besides everything,” Sam said.

“Are you clear on what that genie thing made me believe? Let’s start there,” Dean said.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Sam asked.

Dean took another deep breath, looking up to the right furthest corner of the Impala interior to figure out how to phrase it. “The genie thing read my mind, and pulled out the thing I’ve wanted the most for the longest time.”

“Right, and what was that?” Sam asked, a small smile beginning to show on one side of his face.

“You and me, together,” Dean said, hoping that’d be enough of an explanation.

“We’re already together, so you mean together together, right?” Sam asked, his face so open and hopeful.

Dean nodded, he couldn’t speak, he wanted this so much, wanted Sam to understand how much he needed it. But he couldn’t ask.

“And you thought that would be a surprise or a problem for me?” Sam asked.

“Uh, yeah, Sam, I was pretty fucking sure it would be for both things,” Dean said.

“For such a smart guy, you’re an idiot a lot of the time,” Sam said.

“So what, just like that, you’re on board, you and me, together together?”

“I…I am yeah, it’s been a long time coming. I was just waiting for you to make a move,” Sam said.

“And I did last night, and you tried to stop me,” Dean said.

“I tried to stop you, because I didn’t want to take the choice away from you, the real you with all your memories. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to more than anything,” Sam said.

“But I pushed and you gave in and let me,” Dean said.

“Let you? Dean, no that’s not…can you ever forgive me? I didn’t even tell you we were brothers when you had no memory of us, how can you forgive that?” Sam asked, looking down at his hands twined together in his lap.

Dean reached out and laid a hand over Sam’s, stilling the movement, he squeezed gently until Sam looked up at him. “There’s nothing to forgive, Sammy, really. Like the genie thing said, it was my deepest desire, the thing I’ve worked the hardest to hide from you.”

Sam smiled and didn’t say anything.

“But you already knew, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t mention the brother thing?” Dean asked.

“I did, yeah, I’ve known for a while,” Sam said.

“Why didn’t you ever, you know, push me?” Dean asked.

“I didn’t want it to be like that. I wanted you to ask for what you wanted, because you always give in when I ask, and then I’d never know if you were just doing your self-sacrificing thing or doing what you wanted for yourself for once.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “We could have, god, we wasted all this time. You holding out some test I didn’t know about and me assuming you’d never want a dead-end drop-out like me.”

“What?”

“You’re a lot better actor than you give yourself credit for, Sammy.”

“And you’re even more self-loathing than I thought you were, Dean.”

“Self-loathing, ahhh fuck you,” Dean said.

“It’s true, you’re the best man I’ve ever known, Dean. Anyone would be lucky to get any part of your time or attention, and I never thought I deserved all of it, not like that.”

“Well, you do, bitch,” Dean said.

“Well, if I do, then you do too, jerk,” Sam said.

“That’s settled, should we head home?” Dean asked.

“What was your plan, drop me off and leave, right?” Sam asked.

Dean frowned, briefly thought about lying and then nodded.

Sam sighed. “You’d really just leave me like that?”

“No, never, not now that I know,” Dean said.

“Promise?” Sam asked.

“If you promise, yeah,” Dean said.

Sam leaned over the paper bag between them and pressed his lips to Dean’s, sealing the agreement, making the start to this new thing a reality. Dean closed his eyes and kissed Sam back, vigorous and demanding in his acquiescence. His heart was screaming yes, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to drive.

“You okay to drive?” Sam asked, once he pulled back from that amazing kiss.

Dean looked up into Sam’s eyes, saw the laughter he was holding back and grimaced. How was Sam doing that, was it mind reading or what? “You reading minds now?”

Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t take a genius to figure that one out. There’s a motel right across the street.” Sam pointed at the vintage motel sign that was lit up in gaudy neon, Trail’s Rest. “Maybe it’ll be one of those cowboy ones you dig so much.”

“What are you…I…do not,” Dean sputtered.

Sam interrupted, “Dude, don’t even try to deny it.”

Dean started up the car with a harrumph to himself, something mumbled about little brothers and their know-it-all ways. This was a good sign, that things maybe wouldn’t change between them all that much. He whipped a u-turn and pulled into the motel parking lot quickly enough that Sam had to brace himself against the dashboard. Hah, that shut him up.

“I’ll get us a room,” Dean said, jumping out of the car and pocketing the car keys. He didn’t look back to see whether Sam approved or not. He wasn’t ready though, when the clerk asked the standard question, “King or two queens?” Two paths here, one assuming they were one thing versus giving Sam one more chance to change his mind.

He knew he’d chosen the right path when Sam wrapped his arm around his waist from behind as they entered the room and tossed him into the center of the king bed.

Sam stood above him, strange look of desire and something else on his face. “You…didn’t—“ He stopped, like the words were stuck in his throat.

“Is that surprise on your face, little brother?” Dean asked, grinning one-sided and slow, warming up as Sam’s eyes darkened. “It just didn’t seem like you were up for more second guessing. I can go get us two queens, if you’d rather.”

Sam’s clothes were off before he finished the sentence, and his brother was swarming over him, pinning him to the bed. “You’re not going anywhere, big brother.”

Dean relaxed into Sam’s hold, giving up any pretense of resistance. “I don’t want to go anywhere, this is right where I want to be.”

Sam kissed him, deep and searching, the whole time he writhed on top of Dean, rubbing himself against his jeans, Dean could feel how hard he was. He snuck a hand between them and stroked him several times. Sam stopped kissing him and paused all his movement. There wasn’t much more to say then, they were in this together now. And that’s just how it was. Sam was making frustrated noises and tugging at Dean’s clothes.

“You have too many clothes on, god, c’mon, get this off,” Sam said, tugging Dean’s shirt over his head, trapping his wrists and holding them.

“Well, I need the use of my hands to do anything about the rest of it,” Dean said.

Sam gripped his wrists in one giant palm and Dean got the message. He lifted his hips oh so helpfully when Sam had his jeans undone. Finally they were skin to skin, both knowing it all, who they were, the choice they were making, the love, the need, all of it a big push of energy bringing them together into one. This was how they were supposed to be, the thought flitted through Dean’s head as Sam pounded into him, churning and thrusting, hitting him where he sparked with that deep sharp pleasure.

It was almost too good, almost too much, and then it wan’t even close, he could never slake his thirst for this, for having Sam like this, pliant and yet in control, his and always his and on and on. That was all he thought for a while, going into the blissful state of un-thinking, becoming a creature made only of pleasure that his Sam was giving him. He knew it was the same for Sam, just by how his brother was talking, in a constant low urgent growling whisper, all the possessive and sweet and sexy words Dean had always imagined hearing, all pouring out of his brother, filling him up inside where the small amount of doubt still resided. There was no room left for that, Sam was taking up all the space inside of him now, no more rambling around an empty room alone, Sam was there in the center of him where he was meant to be.

“Yeah, Dean, yeah, meant—to—be,” Sam said, thrusting harder and deeper on each word.

Dean lost it then, either Sam was reading his mind or he was spewing his thoughts out loud because of how damn good this felt. “Never thought we would, that you would,” Dean said, leaving out half of what he was saying because his brain was so not cooperating at the moment.

“Me either, but this is it from here on out, you and me,” Sam said.

****  
 ** _The End_**


End file.
